Sloane appears in the doorway, slightly winded from the stairs. She takes one look at my face and crosses the room to wrap me in a hug that smells like the lavender lotion she’s been obsessed with since her first round of chemo last summer. I let myself lean into it for exactly three seconds before pulling back.
“I don’t want to pretend anymore.” I work hard to keep my voice even.
“I know.” Sloane’s robin’s-egg-blue eyes meet mine. “Let us in, Avs.”
The dam I’ve been holding back threatens to crack. I hate the pressure building behind my ribs. I hate that they’re all here looking at me with varying degrees of pity and love. Most of all, I hate that I need it.
“Sloane told us about Jon.” Molly’s gentle tone wraps around me like a blanket. “Everything.”
My cheeks flame. “I gave her permission.”
“We know.”
The room goes quiet, the way it does after the bookstore closes and Main Street settles into its evening hush. My hands want tofind a bowl or a spatula or anything to keep them busy. I fold them across my chest instead.
“Piper.” I force myself to meet her gaze. “I owe you an apology.”
She shakes her head, blonde hair swaying. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I was a complete bitch when you called me out about the bruise on my neck when you were trying to help.” The words scrape against my throat like sandpaper. “Thank you for caring enough to say something, and I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, no apology needed.” The newest member of our book club moves toward me and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you’re away from that fuckwad.”
“Same.” Iris uncrosses her long legs and leans forward. “We’re all glad.”
“You have nothing to feel bad about,” Sadie adds. “Jon’s a manipulative piece of shit who took advantage of you. That’s on him, not you.”
“I should have seen it sooner.”
“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.” Molly waves a dismissive hand. “That way lies madness. Trust me, I spent years after Teddy died playing the blame myself game, and it never leads anywhere good.”
Taylor finally speaks up. “Can we talk about how satisfying it would be to run him over with a car?”
A startled laugh escapes me. Taylor Maxwell—the sweet librarian who blushes when I curse too vehemently—suggesting vehicular homicide. “That’s dark.”
“I’ve been reading a lot of domestic thrillers.” She shrugs her slender shoulders. “It makes for good research.”
“We could lure him to the flower farm,” Molly offers, her eyes glinting. “Bury him in the compost pile.”
“Pigs,” Iris adds. “I read somewhere that pigs can dispose of a body in under eight minutes.”
“Where the hell did you read that?” Sadie demands.
“When I was mayor, I stayed current on all potential public safety concerns.”
“Do a lot of pig-related murders happen in Skylark?”
“There’s always a first time.”
These women I love are plotting elaborate revenge schemes against my ex-fiancé like they’re planning a meet-up at our favorite Mexican restaurant. The absurdity of it makes me smile.
“Ladies,” I say, grabbing the container of cookies that were waiting for Sloane to take to the bookstore tomorrow. “I appreciate the homicidal solidarity.”
“What are friends for?” Iris grabs one and takes a bite. Her eyes roll back. “Jesus, Avah. These are bakery porn.”
“Just chocolate chip.”
“They’re notjustanything.” She takes the container from my hands and passes it to Sadie, who takes a bite of a cookie and then makes a similarly inappropriate noise.
